And In The Grace of Others We Are Found
by basialynn
Summary: On the way to Peshawar, Prince Arslan falls ill.
1. Chapter 1

After leaving Kashan Castle behind, Prince Arslan and his followers headed eastward under the cover of night. They made camp after a day's travel into their new course, and when the sky had lightened they set out once again.

Narsus had decided they travel through a forest on the edge of Kashan's territory. It was surrounded by slightly mountainous terrain, which, in addition to the cover of the wooded area, would aid in avoiding any forces from Kashan that might have been foolish enough to follow them.

The crisp early morning warmed up slightly as they made their way, the ground becoming increasingly rougher. After surveying ahead once more and finding no dangers, Daryun slowed his horse's gait and fell back into position at the right of His Highness, who rode near the protected center of their little group. As he did so, he felt his eyes return almost reflexively to the young prince. Arslan sat atop his horse, looking forward at the road ahead, though he noticed Daryun's gaze and gave him a small, tight smile.

As soon as Arslan looked away, Daryun couldn't help but frown.

After Arslan's discussion with Narsus the night before last, about the inherent pitfalls of abolishing slavery and humanity's inborn right to freedom, the prince seemed subdued. Daryun thought it similar to the melancholy mood that had overtaken the boy after the ill-fated battle at Atropatene. While Arslan was by no means a garrulous person, he would occassionally ask thoughtful questions of Narsus and himself, about varied subjects: abstract strategy, politics, history of the places the two older men had traveled. Sometimes he would share random observations with or ask personal questions of Elam (who was usually a bit gruff, being caught off guard by the former and made uncomfortable by the latter).

But today Arslan had been noticeably quiet. As Daryun looked more closely, he thought maybe the prince sat a little rigidly upon his mount, features serious and determined. Ruminating about the troubles of his kingdom, Daryun suspected. But was it a trick of the sunlight, or did Arslan seem to be of an even lighter pallor than usual...?

His thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Glancing around, he realized the group had stopped, and Narsus was looking at him. His old friend had an amused smile playing at his lips; it wasn't often that Daryun, the perfect soldier, lost himself in thought.

Daryun's expression must have conveyed his question, because Narsus gave an elegant shrug and said, "I suggested we continue from here on foot." Daryun noted that indeed, any path they could travel would lead them over slightly craggy inclines - most disadvantageous for riding on horseback.

"Of course," said Gieve. Atop his honey-colored mare, the minstrel gave a dramatic sigh. "An easy path would be too much to ask for."

Narsus turned to Prince Arslan. "Likely only for a short distance, Your Highness. The terrain has grown a little precarious, and we'd do better to lead the horses until we reach the forest and the path is not so steep."

Arslan nodded, and though he looked determined, his eyes were a little wide. Daryun had never seen the prince worry his bottom lip with his teeth before, but he had the distinct impression that the boy might have wanted to do so now.

The group dismounted and set off, picking their way carefully. They continued for a time, until far off near the horizon, about another hour's walk by Daryun's estimation, were the beginnings of the forest.

Up ahead, Elam led his horse alongside Arslan. He hesitated only a moment before speaking to the prince. Arslan seemed not to have heard, so Elam was forced to repeat himself, with a stronger voice. "Autumn does seem to come more swiftly each year, doesn't it?"

Daryun wondered at the rare sight. Aside from curt directions, Elam rarely initiated conversation with the prince. Perhaps Daryun wasn't the only one who had noticed Arslan's reticence this day.

"O-Oh! Yes!" exclaimed the prince. He glanced around himself, as though noticing the ever-present and plentiful trees for the first time. "The leaves have not yet changed color. But I look forward to it." He might have said more, but as his eyes were looking upwards, his foot seemed to catch on something and he tripped, nearly stumbling to his knees.

Elam bent down at Arslan's side, one hand hovering outwards as if to help him up, but unsure if he should do so. "Are you alright, Your Highness?"

"Yes, I just..." Arslan trailed off, then suddenly shook his head a little. Again, that small and tight smile. "Fine, I-I'm fine. Thank you, Elam." He got to his feet and though he did indeed seem to be all right, Daryun noticed that the prince led his horse a short distance ahead and did not resume his conversation with Elam.

Narsus also seemed to have watched the exchange, and leaned over slightly towards Daryun. In a soft voice he said, "They may become friends yet."

It wasn't long before the ground levelled out a bit and the trees thickened, and they found themselves inside the forest proper. The group mounted once again and continued onward. By now, late afternoon sunlight poured through where it could and dappled everything it touched. A woodland bird cried out occassionally, and fallen branches snapped underneath the hooves of their mounts. There was chatter from Gieve behind, directed at the hapless Farangis.

It was by the grace of Mithra that Daryun's habit of glancing protectively at the prince afforded him the exact moment Arslan suddenly seemed to sway once, twice, there in the saddle. He listed to the side and didn't right himself, and then he was slipping off his horse. Falling.

Before the cry of "Your Highness!" could even leave his throat, Daryun found himself spurring his horse forward and reaching out. Though Arslan had begun to slip down towards the horse's left flank and Daryun approached from the right, he managed to grab hold of the prince's arm before he slipped completely out of the saddle. It was more of an ungentle yanking motion than Daryun would have preferred to use on royalty, but at least it saved the boy from hitting the hard ground.

The band of six halted, and Narsus and Elam immediately dismounted and hurried over to Daryun, who now carried the prince before him on his own saddle. Gieve and Farangis stayed atop their horses, concerned but also maintaining defensive positions.

With the prince unconscious, slumped sideways into his arms, Daryun's heart seemed to stop as he looked for an arrow wound; he had seen none fly but knew it was best to be sure. He found no bleeding injury, but now at such close range, realized that his earlier observation had been correct; Arslan's skin color was unnaturally pale, making the gray-tinged shade beneath his eyes and the slightly reddened cheeks more prominent. A few tendrils of fair hair were stuck to his forehead, dampened by a sheen of sweat there.

By any estimation, Prince Arslan looked quite ill.

A quick glance at the boy told Narsus all he needed to know. The master strategist directed Elam to take the reins of Arslan's horse and keep it still as he helped Daryun maneuver the prince safely down.

Narsus laid the back of his hand upon the prince's brow, frowning as Arslan groaned softly at the touch.

Narsus looked up, his features serious. "As I thought. A fever." His fingers felt for the small wrist, measuring the boy's pulse. "Not so bad yet. It may worsen, but for now he needs rest."

Elam made a small "tch" sound and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry, Master Narsus," he said, sounding frustrated. "I noticed he seemed...not himself, but assumed he was just fatigued. I should have considered he was ill."

Narsus smiled at his young friend. "It's alright, Elam."

Farangis spoke up. "How many nights' travel will bring us out of this forest?"

Narsus thought for a few heartbeats. "Two nights, and we should reach the outskirts by then. If we make camp early tonight, the prince can sleep and gather his strength and we can press on at first light."

A concerned frown marred Farangis' exquisite features. "Should we not wait to continue onwards until his Highness has fully recovered?"

Narsus shook his head. "Two nights is all I would risk in this forest," he said grimly. "Any longer and we give our enemies ample opportunity for an ambush." He stood, and with a gesture, indicated that they continue forward. "Daryun, if you would."

Daryun, who had been half kneeling and supporting Arslan's shoulders and head, now gathered the prince up into his arms and stood. They led the horses along as they searched for a safe area to prepare their camp. A clearing not too far away was chosen and everyone set to work.

At Narsus' direction, Elam went in search of water, and Daryun in search of firewood. Gieve retrieved any needed belongings from their traveling packs. Narsus and Farangis meanwhile, made Arslan a makeshift sickbed out of all they had on hand: an area of the forest floor slightly cushioned with moss, a gathering of fallen leaves for comfort, and the only spare blanket laid atop them. Arslan's light-colored cloak was removed and rolled up for use as a pillow.

It wasn't long before the prince stirred and opened his eyes. Upon finding himself lying underneath the trees in daylight, he gave a start and quickly sat upright. "What? Where - "

"You fell ill, Your Highness," Narsus explained gently. "A slight fever. With some rest, you should recover fully, so we've stopped and made camp early today."

Daryun knelt down at Arslan's side. "How are you feeling?"

Arslan met Daryun's gaze but a moment before looking away. "I'm alright. Just a little warm, that's all." His still-flushed cheeks attested for that.

But Narsus' voice was knowing. "A full inventory of your symptoms, if you please."

The young prince closed his eyes momentarily, and fought to keep an undignified sigh from escaping. "Warm, and tired. And there doesn't seem to be an inch of me that doesn't ache."

Elam piped up. "If you hadn't tried to hide it all morning, maybe you wouldn't have almost fallen clean off your horse."

Arslan's eyes widened a fraction in surprise, then lowered with guilt. "I tried to ignore it," he admitted. "But the walk over that rough ground made me tired, and dizzy. I don't remember much after getting back upon my horse."

Daryun's frown furrowed his tanned brow. "Your Highness, forgive me, but why did you not tell us you had taken ill?"

Arslan looked even more distressed, if possible, and his head lowered further. "Everyone is working so hard, risking their lives to help me, and here I am, adding to our difficulties." He broke off with a wince and and a small cough, his sore throat protesting its use. "I...I didn't want to be a burden," he finished.

"You can hardly reclaim your throne if you can't even take care of yourself," said Elam, rather bluntly.

"What my young page here is trying to say," said Narsus smoothly, "Is that your health is not a matter to be taken lightly, Your Highness. You're the hope of Pars, and in one way or another, the reason why we're all here."

"And you are not a burden," added Daryun.

Daryun's voice was stern, but there was also warmth and sincerity in his words, and Arslan smiled to hear them. As he had done countless times over since that bloody day on the battlefield, Arslan found himself fervently thanking the Gods for the loyalty the Black Knight had shown him.

"Well," Narsus said decisively, getting to his feet, "We'll leave you to your rest."

Arslan nodded. His body, especially the muscles at his upper arms and thighs, felt increasingly heavy yet strangely weak at the same time. His throat had begun to pain him at every swallow, and a vague pain was also forming at his temples. He certainly wasn't going to argue with more sleep at the moment. Lying back upon his blanketed bed of moss and leaves, he turned his back to the campsite and closed his eyes, drifting into sleep soon enough.

The camp grew relatively silent as each companion worked at their tasks in the meantime.

Elam prepared some of the root vegetables he carried along on their journey. "Strange," he mused aloud to his Master Narsus. "Prince Arslan falling ill so suddenly. Will he really be alright?"

The strategist observed his retak, noting the concern that shone in the boy's dark eyes. As a result of his slave upbringing, Elam was quite cynical for one so young. Reluctant to turn that pragmatic view onto the fate of their young charge, he now sought reassurance.

"I'm sure he will be," Narsus told him. "It seems to me a fever brought on by exertion, and undue stresses."

"His Highness carries many worries on his shoulders," said Daryun. "He did seem particularly troubled by the incident with the slaves at Kashan."

Gieve's words were airy and glib when he cut in. "Perhaps this is what befalls the nobility, when they attempt to grapple with the problems of the common folk. A fever for their troubles."

Daryun honestly couldn't help the glare he sent the minstrel's way.

A quiet fell upon the group once again, until Farangis suddenly stood. "The healers at the temple would sometimes prepare a strengthening drink for the sick. I will try to find the appropriate herbs and recreate it for His Highness. I should return before dawn." With that, the Priestess departed.

Shortly afterwards, Gieve pushed off from the tree trunk he had been leaning against and announced that he, too, would take his leave. It was his turn to hunt for the night's dinner, after all. With a little bow, he was gone, leaving Daryun, Narsus, and Elam in the clearing, with a sleeping prince.

The moon was high in a dark field of stars when Arslan next opened his eyes.

He laid still a moment, cataloguing the state of his body. He still felt warm. An experimental swallow still hurt. He moved his limbs and found them not just achey, but almost confined by something spread over him, large and heavy. A cloak, he realized, and after a moment noticing the deep black color and silver trim, he knew exactly whose it was.

"Daryun," he murmured. His voice was slightly hoarse.

"Your Highness," answered the cloak's owner, from his sentry post near a tree at Arslan's left. In the flickering light from the fire, the warrior stepped closer and sat down next to the young prince. "Are you feeling any better?"

Sitting up, Arslan gave Daryun a rueful smile. "About the same, I'm afraid." He looked around the camp, and though his eyes felt bleary, he caught sight of all his sleeping companions save for one. "Where is Lady Farangis?" he asked.

"Gone to find some herbs for a strengthening drink, and should be back soon."

"I see."

Daryun stood and retrieved something small from near the fire: a bowl of what seemed to be a sort of stew. "Gieve went hunting, and our Elam worked his magic. I know it's late, but you shouldn't miss an opportunity to eat when you can."

While he thankfully did not suffer from a nervous stomach on top of everything else, Arslan felt no appetite at the moment. He had almost gotten out a polite 'no, thank you,' before Daryun thrust the bowl so suddenly and decisively in front of him that he could do nothing else but blink in surprise.

"Eat. To keep your strength," Daryun said. He must have realized that he had just issued a command to a prince, because he tacked on a hasty "Your Highness."

Arslan accepted the bowl. "Y-Yes, that would probably be best. I thank you." When he had finished all he could manage, the two of them sat awhile in a companionable silence.

"I do hope Lady Farangis is alright," said Arslan, worrying aloud.

Daryun chuckled. "The Lady Farangis is most capable of taking care of herself. I do not worry for her."

The comment was simple enough (and Arslan saw his point clearly; the warrior priestess had shown herself to be nearly peerless in many skills) but it struck something in Arslan, something that made his very heart feel as though it had been struck a blow.

It was the realization that he was so utterly unlike her, in that he always needed looking after. From his wet nurse in his infancy, to the servants and Vaphreze in his childhood, and now Daryun and the others; he was always someone to be taken care of. An unwanted responsiblity to be passed on to someone else. A burden to be shouldered.

Daryun had denied it, but all his life he had felt it. He felt useless as a prince, and even more so as a son. Even as a small boy, Arslan had felt his father's displeasure and his mother's coldness and assumed the fault was his own. Something he had done or said, something he was or wasn't, made him unworthy of their love (though a part of his heart still hoped he was mistaken). At the palace he often heard hushed words like "takes after his mother," and "meek as a mouse," and "wouldn't last a minute on the battlefield." They were uttered in tones that made things quite clear: his slight stature and gentle nature were weaknesses, his very person inadequate and undesirable in a future king.

And here he was now, a victim of his own failings. Too weak to protect his people, too inept to reclaim his capital. Too foolish to realize the full injustice of slavery. So feeble that with all of Pars at stake, he had fallen ill and caused more hardship for the few people who had the misfortune to follow him.

Daryun's voice suddenly broke into his thoughts. "Before you rend my cloak in two, please tell me what it has done to offend you, my liege."

Focused as he was on his self-pity, Arslan's mind was slow to grasp Daryun's words. He looked down to discover that he'd been tightly clenching the poor fabric between his fingers. "Oh!" he exclaimed. There was a rush of heat at his cheeks, and he knew it was not only the fault of the fever.

Daryun was watching him with no little amount of concern. "Something troubles you?"

In Arslan's mind, his previous thoughts seemed to echo. Always needing looking after. Always a burden. "No, Daryun. Just...thinking of all there is to be done," he said. He hoped the lie wasn't too apparent.

Daryun was silent a moment, staring. Perhaps warring with his instinct to help where there was obvious distress, and the obligation to afford the prince his privacy. Growing up in the service of the royal family, the importance of never overstepping his boundaries had likely been well-impressed upon him at an early age.

In the end, Daryun chose not to pry. "The Gods willing, we will retake Ekubatana soon enough," he said, bowing his head.

Just as Arslan was thinking that he'd like to stay awake longer (for he greatly enjoyed Daryun's company, and conversation helped distract him from his discomforts) he felt his eyelids growing heavy. A yawn slipped out, unbidden.

There was a gentleness in Daryun's voice. "Rest, Your Highness. We have a few hours yet until morning, and a long road ahead."

"I suppose you're right," said the prince. He lay back down and attempted to find some comfort, fervently hoping that he felt better upon waking the next morning. Peshawar was still so very far away. "If only we could fly as swiftly as Azrael," was his last conscious thought before his eyes slipped closed and he dropped into slumber once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Dawn broke slowly through the trees. The rays of sunlight were too weak to penetrate the early morning chill, but just bright enough to waken Prince Arslan as they fell across his face.

He sat up, trying to blink the heaviness from his eyes. Though he knew he had gotten a fair amount of rest, his body felt reluctant to move. His headache was gone, but along with the dull pain in his limbs and throat, a general feeling of malaise had gripped him.

Looking around, Arslan noticed and quietly greeted Narsus, who was preparing the traveling packs. Daryun, Gieve, and Elam seemed to be absent, most likely readying the horses. He also saw with relief that Farangis had returned, and was tending something at the small fire that still burned at the center of the clearing. Arslan wondered at that. They didn't usually linger for breakfast, nor did Farangis usually cook.

He smiled when he saw that Daryun's cloak still lay over him, though it quickly faded with the memory of his unhappy thoughts the night before. The feeling of being hopeless against his many faults...it threatened to swell up once more, but he shut his eyes tightly and gave his head a vigorous shake. He was determined not to dwell on such things today.

"Is everything alright, Prince Arslan?"

The prince opened his eyes to find that Elam had returned and was approaching, carrying a small basin of water.

"Y-yes! Good morning, Elam," Arslan replied, wondering why it was that he so often made himself look foolish around the other capable boy.

Elam nodded. "Good morning." He indicated the basin. "Fresh water from a stream nearby. Please refresh yourself if you like."

"Ah, I must look a complete mess!" With an embarrassed laugh, Arslan's hands flew to his silvery hair and attempted to tame it. He had forgotten to untie his ponytail before falling asleep, and he was sure that it was in quite a disarray by now.

He was heartened when Elam spared him a good-natured smile, likely amused at the sight of the disheveled prince. "Not at all, Your Highness."

Arslan drank as much water as his sore throat would comfortably allow, then used the rest to wash his face. Though a little bit of a shock at first, the cool water felt heavenly against his flushed skin. He removed his hair binding and combed his fingers through, smoothing the strands as best he could before tying them up again.

Just as he finished, Farangis approached with an earthenware cup in her hand. It steamed slightly in the cool air.

"Good morning, Your Highness," she said, inclining her head slightly. "I've prepared a medicinal drink from my temple, in the hopes that it brings you strength for the journey."

"That was very kind. Thank you." Arslan took the offered cup and saw that it was filled with a dark, reddish-purple liquid that looked almost like wine but was thick as a syrup. He was happy to find that while the taste was a bit tart, it was not unpleasant, and the warmth soothed his throat.

Daryun and Gieve returned then, leading the horses. After fastening his own upon his shoulders, Arslan gathered up Daryun's cloak and returned it to the man with his thanks.

"Of course, Your Highness," replied Daryun. "My apologies, but -" He surprised Arslan by suddenly reaching forward and touching the backs of his fingers to the prince's forehead. "Still warm," he determined, frowning. "If your condition worsens, my prince -"

Arslan interrupted with his best attempt at a bright smile. "I'm sure it will pass soon enough, and I'm feeling better already. Please don't worry about me, Daryun."

"I'm afraid His Highness asks for the impossible," said Daryun wryly, though he eventually nodded his assent.

The group quickly broke camp and set out. The towering hardwood trees sped by quickly as they set a brisk pace, taking full advantage of their well-rested mounts.

The forest was so relatively peaceful that Arslan found himself, not for the first time, wishing his travels were under less dire circumstances. As the Crown Prince, he spent an inordinate amount of time within the palace walls. Being led about the capital city by a Lusitanian boy years ago (by his ear no less - sometimes it still twinged from the remembered abuse it suffered that day) also made his father less-inclined to let him move about freely. In fact, his first hunt not two summers ago was the last time he had been near any sort of woodland. Daryun had been there as well, and Vaphreze...

Arslan tightened his grip on the reins at the thought of his old teacher. Though remembering the Eran Vaphreze's horrible fate brought sorrow to his heart, it also strengthened his resolve. He could no longer afford to be useless and burdensome, and so he needed to press onward no matter the hardship. He would not allow himself to trouble his companions any longer.

Now aware that he was ill, they seemed to keep an even closer watch on him than ususal. Perhaps he might not have noticed had it only been Daryun, but with five pairs of eyes continuously glancing his way in concern, it was impossible not to. Even Gieve seemed to look his way more than Arslan thought was probably necessary. Daryun also developed the habit of repeatedly asking Arslan whether he needed to stop for a rest. The prince knew of course that everyone meant him well, but with the added discomforts caused by the fever, he felt his patience waning considerably.

After an hour or so of enduring in such a fashion, Arslan felt he couldn't bear it another moment. He closed his eyes, raised his chin and said loudly, "I don't intend to fall off my horse a second time, I'll have you all know."

Caught, each member of the company wore similar looks of embarrassment. The only one who seemed without shame was Gieve. Eyebrows raised and lips pursed, he appeared wholly amused by the outburst.

Narsus was the first to attempt to placate the prince. "Our apologies, Your Highness. Though we may be a little zealous in our concern"- here the strategist gave a pointed glance at Daryun - "We only want to make sure that you not over-tire yourself in your condition."

Arslan's expression softened. "I understand, and I'm very grateful. But please do not waste your attentions on me. Instead, look to our path to the Eastern Citadel, where we place our hope."

There were curt nods all around, and Narsus offered, "Of course, Your Highness."

Not long after that exchange, though the day had long since grown warmer, Arslan felt a shiver of cold. He was dismayed to find that it was the first of many that seemed to overtake his body; where he had once felt overly-warm and flushed, he now felt chilled to his very bones, and his cloak brought no comfort.

Midday was fast approaching, and again Arslan reassured his companions that he felt well enough to keep going. The truth was that he now felt thoroughly and completely unwell. His thoughts seemed as though they were wrapped in a fog, and every bit of him wanted nothing more than to lie down somewhere, anywhere, and close his eyes for even the briefest of moments. Only by sheer will did he manage to keep himself upright.

It wasn't until Narsus declared the horses in immediate need of rest that Arslan finally gave in.

As the others tended to the horses and themselves, Arslan was free of scrutiny for a few wondrous moments. He allowed himself a weary sigh, and sank to the floor beside as comfortable a tree he could find. Leaning back gratefully against its wide trunk, he was lost to sleep almost the moment he shut his eyes.

Daryun fed Shabrang an apple while he patted the strong neck with great affection. He knew that the jet-black warhorse had traveled far longer and harder without rest before, but Daryun was glad to give him reprieve when it was possible.

Beside him, minding his own mare, Gieve said, "It seems not only the horses were tired."

Daryun's eyes sought out the prince and found Arslan sat against a tree, fast asleep. He sighed. "Deeply asleep even at this early hour...I hate to have to wake him."

"You won't have to," said Narsus. "We camp here for tonight."

At his words, the rest of the company looked surprised.

Daryun frowned. "You said two nights' journey would bring us out of this forest. Should we risk three? Sundown isn't for hours yet, and we can push on until then."

"I accounted for a half day of travel in my original estimation," said Narsus. "We should reach the outskirts by early morning tomorrow."

Elam still looked confused. "But Master Narsus, what do you -?"

"Ah," Narsus interrupted, adopting his habit of flicking his ponytail forward over his shoulder, and slipping each forearm into the sleeve of the other. "Our sweet-tempered prince can actually be quite stubborn when he sets his mind to it. Correctly assuming he would push himself to an early exhaustion, I simply added another night to our travel."

Daryun shook his head, with a smile that was half exasperated and half fond. "As expected of our Master Strategist."

Dinner and the night watch rotation were still hours away. With no other pressing duties besides rest, they each found various ways to pass the time.

Like a cat, Gieve sought out a spot of sun to lie in, leaning back on the bare forest floor with crossed arms behind his head. With his uncanny way of seeming at ease in any surroundings, the red-haired minstrel quickly dozed off. After rebuffing an offer from Gieve to share her bed (as rustic as it was), Farangis took her rest as well.

Elam busied himself with cleaning the weapons he and Narsus used. As he worked, Elam helped his Master pore over the single unfinished map they had in their possession.

Daryun settled near Arslan and took up his weapons, making sure the steel was clean and serviceable. It was a methodical task, and one so familiar that Daryun was almost certain he could do it with his eyes closed. It wasn't long before his eyes did just that.

He wasn't sure whether he had drowsed for minutes or hours, when a small sound reached his ears. Instantly alert, he held still and listened. Not until Arslan shifted slightly did he hear the sound again, and he realized where it had come from - the prince was muttering in his sleep.

"No," the boy was saying, over and over. "No, it can't..."

Daryun went swiftly to his side. "Your Highness?"

Arslan's movements were restless, head tossing from side to side. He was shaking as though he were dressed in thin nightclothes and not layers of clothing and a cloak besides. The loose hair that framed his face was damp with sweat. No longer were his cheeks flushed red; instead all color seemed to have been blanched from his skin and lips. His breath came in rapid huffs.

"Your Highness," Daryun tried again. "Please wake up. You're only dreaming."

Arslan's mumurings only grew louder, and Daryun thought it best that he awaken the prince immediately, before he brought further strain to himself. He laid a hand firmly against the boy's shoulder. "Prince Arslan!"

Arslan woke suddenly and sat forward with a gasp.

"Your Highness?" Daryun asked slowly. "Are you alright?"

Arslan did not answer. His blue eyes were wide but strangely glassy, his gaze frighteningly blank.

Daryun felt his dread growing. "Narsus!" he called sharply.

At his shout, the others quickly gathered around in concern. Narsus knelt down in front of the prince, looking closely at his unresponsive eyes and pale face. He took Arslan's wrist between his graceful fingers.

At this Arslan seemed to finally gain some awareness, though his gaze had the strange quality of seeming locked on something far away. "The capital," he said anxiously, "Burnt to ashes...so cold..." Another chill made him shut his eyes and tremble.

"Your Highness, can you hear me?" Narsus asked intently.

Eyes still closed, the prince leaned back and his head lolled to the side. As if returning to the subject of an entirely different conversation, he said, "Sometimes Azrael flies with death on his wings."

Instead of looking unsettled, Narsus wore a grim expression. "Delusions," he said decisively. "The fever has risen, and he's caught in dreams."

"Will he be alright?" Daryun asked worriedly.

Narsus pressed his lips together tightly in determination. "He will be, as long as we can prevent it from rising further." He turned to each companion in turn, issuing his orders. "Gieve, a fire, if you will. Elam, fetch some water and cloth; Lady Farangis, the spare blanket please."

Once Farangis had laid the blanket upon the ground, Daryun removed Arslan's cloak to once again use as a pillow. As he eased Arslan into a lying position, he was alarmed to feel the boy shudder in his arms. It was bewildering to see him so visibly chilled when Daryun had felt the unnatural heat of his skin.

At his master's instruction, Elam wet the cloth and tried to dab at Arslan's face in an effort to cool him, but Arslan cried aloud at the first touch of it and tried to shrink away. Despite the prince's obvious discomfort (and his own), Elam pressed on until finally Arslan struggled hard, and the cloth fell out of Elam's hands and uselessly onto the ground, dirtied.

Arslan turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around himself. "C-cold," he moaned.

Without hesitation, Daryun once again removed his dark cloak and laid it over the prince. Knowing it might easily be displaced, he made sure to tuck it securely around his young charge.

Arslan lay quietly for a short time, though he still shivered, and his breathing was still labored. His distressed movements had undone his hair from its binding, and now the white strands lay loose and long around his face.

Farangis folded her arms, and would have looked serene and composed if it weren't for the worried set of her brow. "His Highness grows weaker by the moment. What can we do should the fever not subside?"

Narsus shook his head tersely. "Not much, I'm afraid. There is an herb...the people of Shindra call it dhania, but I do not think we will find it here."

Elam said, "If we could only find a healer. But the nearest village must be five, six farsang away at the least."

"We could double back to Kashan," Daryun said, though his doubt showed clearly on his face. "Whoever might have replaced that Hodir...perhaps he could be reasoned with. The prince's life may very well be in danger."

Arslan moaned suddenly, growing agitated once more. When his eyes opened they were wide, horrified at something only he could see. "All dead. I didn't know. How I would have begged Father to spare them, if only I had known!"

There was plain anguish in the prince's voice, and Daryun felt helpless with the urge to ease it. Aware that he would most likely receive a nonsensical answer, he asked anyway: "Who, Your Highness?"

The prince's eyes fell half closed, as if remembering. "Golden eyes like the sun," he murmured.

From the corner of his sight, Daryun noticed Elam look up sharply in recognition, but he decided this wasn't the time to question the dark-haired boy.

For a few moments, Arslan did nothing but stare blankly at Daryun with fever-bright eyes. He slowly seemed to focus on Daryun's bare arms, and his features rearranged into a frown. "But Daryun...your cloak. Where is it? You must be cold."

Daryun blinked, and the tense breath he had been holding came out in a chuckle. The prince, inquiring after the cloak when he was practically wrapped up in it like a newborn - the situation was a little comical. "Misplaced," he said, bowing his head to hide the upward quirk of his lips. "You must forgive me."

"You can have mine," said Arslan. "It wouldn't do to have you fall ill..." He moved weakly, trying to sit up, and Daryun realized Arslan really meant to remove his own cloak and give it to him.

"Ah, that won't be necessary, I assure you," he told the prince, stopping him gently.

Arslan looked vaguely confused, but eventually seemed to accept Daryun's words. His eyes drifted closed.

Narsus sat back and closed his eyes as well. "We can do no more for him at the moment. The fever must run its course."

A brief quiet fell upon the group. "I should have -" Daryun began.

Narsus' imperious tone cut him short. "We'll have none of that, Daryun."

"But to see him suffer so - !"

"There was nothing more you, or any of us could have done," said Narsus. More gently, he added, "You know as well as I that the prince is not as frail as he may look. Once the fever breaks, he should recover quickly."

Daryun sighed, well-defeated by the tactician's sound words, though he still felt badly. "If I'd only noticed earlier. If he hadn't tried to hide it..."

"But I had to," came Arslan's small voice.

Daryun gave a start. So far Arslan's feverish mind seemed too dazed, too splintered to fully understand what was spoken around him, but for the moment his eyes held an almost pensive awareness. The only indication that he was still not quite himself was the strange lilting tone.

"I have been a burden so far," Arslan continued. "Always. To Everyone."

Daryun was about to deny the prince's words once again but stopped at the sight of Narsus, eyes closed and shaking his head. It was a gesture that conveyed the futility of trying to reason with someone in such a state.

Arslan's gaze grew distant, and sadness colored his voice. "As useless a prince as they say. Else why would Father and Mother look at me so? But if there's a chance to help my people...or anyone suffering, then I would do it. I am only ashamed I cannot do it by myself."

That's why I have to become...a ruler worthy of such support..." He shook his head restlessly, as if he felt the need to jump from his sickbed and prove himself in that very instant. But his eyes were already closing, his strength ebbing away.

"Become a worthy...not useless. I must...become..." His hand clenched weakly, then fell lax as he finally drifted into a deeper, more contented sleep.

Only the crackling fire filled the silence then, as each companion couldn't help but reflect upon Arslan's words.

It was Gieve that finally broke the quiet, standing suddenly and drawing nearer to the prince. He reached into the folds of his red-violet tunic.

Daryun tensed, his protective senses heightened, but the bard only drew forth a long cloth; a spare headscarf, by the looks of it. To the surprise of all present, Gieve dipped the cloth into the bowl of water, wrung it out and folded it, then placed it gently on Arslan's forehead.

As he did this, Gieve recited a verse from memory; his voice was rich and melodic, befitting his musical profession.

"Not gold, nor any jewel under heaven wrought

could bring;

a peace to soothe the troubled brow

alike of beggar and king."

Arslan shifted a little at the touch of the damp cloth, but surprisingly did not wake.

Gieve looked up, and his keen eyes unerringly found Daryun's. The minstrel gave a slight nod. A sort of apology, perhaps, for his biting comment the day previous.

Daryun nodded back in acknowledgement. A boy who can change the hearts of those he meets, he marveled inwardly. Our prince is a rare one.

Though Arslan shuddered and caught a stuttering breath occasionally, he slept relatively peacefully for a time. The others gave him some space but stayed alert, ready to help if needed. Elam prepared and doled out the night's supper, though worry over the prince stole much of their appetite.

Later, when Arslan's breathing came faster and the dreams returned, Daryun sat down beside him, stiff-backed and watchful. He would stay at the prince's side until the fever broke.

Perhaps moved by such a display of loyalty, Farangis knelt at the prince's other side. She lifted the whistle she wore around her neck, blew a long, delicate note, and then paused to listen. Whatever the mysterious Djinn relayed to her, she responded by starting to sing softly. Not an elegy for the dead, this time, but a gentle melody to soothe the distressed prince.

And so the early hours of the evening passed.

It wasn't until darkness had settled around them and most of the others slept, that Daryun felt the first prickle of unease at the back of his neck. It was a sensation any warrior quickly learned to heed, else it might be their last: it meant they were being watched.

Preparing his bed nearby, Elam paused suddenly in his task; he had felt it too. The boy swiftly moved into a crouch and produced a short dagger in his hand.

For a few terse moments they waited, listening for any sound that would indicate a threat.

There! It was an almost imperceptible shift that set Daryun's instincts alight, and he went for his sword. His fingertips had barely brushed the grip when the nearly silent flex of a bowstring seemed to resound throughout the clearing, and an arrow split the air.


	3. Chapter 3

Mere moments after the arrow met its mark - a stretch of tree trunk at the far end of the campsite - Daryun and the rest were on their feet. They reached for their swords, but halted as an unknown man's voice carried loud and strong, from the dark wood beyond the firelight's reach.

"You will stay your weapons! Or one of you dies upon my arrow!"

Daryun clenched his fists until he felt his fingertips dig into his palms. To be at the mercy of this stranger, and Prince Arslan rendered utterly defenseless...his fingers nearly burned with the urge to take up his sword. But as any one of them well knew, attacking blindly would be foolish, and with an arrow already trained upon them, would likely leave at least one of their company dead before the sunrise.

Elam was the only one with a weapon already in hand, but the blade was small. While Daryun knew the boy to be remarkably quick and precise, deflecting an arrow with it would be difficult, even for one as skilled as he.

The stranger's voice came from the shadows once again. "Lusitanians!" He almost spat the word. "The capital is yours, but that will not satisfy for long, will it?" There was the faint sound of the bowstring stretching even more tightly, before he roughly demanded, "What business have you here? You will speak!"

Daryun and the others held quiet. A few quick, tense glances amongst themselves, and they came to an unspoken agreement: if any member of their company could put the situation to rights, it would be Narsus.

The light-haired strategist spoke up boldly. "We are no Lusitanians, but Parsians escorting the son of a noble family. We seek protection for him under Marzban Kishward at Peshawar."

Daryun felt his breath catch at the gamble Narsus had taken. Out here, so far from the capital, it was not uncommon for citizens to be only passingly familiar with the faces of the king and queen, much less any royal offspring. Oftentimes a coronation was the only chance for a glimpse of the ruling family, with entire decades sometimes passing between the occassions. Narsus had surely taken in every available detail about the man and concluded that such were the circumstances here. But if the man recognized Arslan on sight, and caught them in an outright lie...there would be little chance of a peaceful end to the encounter. Daryun held tightly to the knowledge that Narsus was not often wrong.

There was silence from the man. Slowly, he advanced from out of the shadows, the hands on his bow never wavering from their positions.

A dark, hooded cloak covered much of him. From what little of his face could be seen in the moonlight, he could be judged as a man near forty years, olive-skinned, with a full beard covering nearly every inch below his nose. Above dark and slanted eyes, thick black brows gave his face a severity that matched his voice.

The stranger scowled. "Only one boy among you," he said accusingly, "And no son of a nobleman would know to guard with a blade like that."

So he has not yet seen the prince, Daryun thought with relief.

However, in that inopportune moment, from the ground behind Daryun came a cry so sudden and aggrieved that even the stranger startled slightly at the sound of it.

Arslan, it seemed, was caught once again in a fitful sleep that had turned his breathing shallow and ragged. Whether his hitched cries were from physical pain or some imagined horror in a fever dream, a pang tore through Daryun's chest at each one. He grit his teeth. It took every fiber of discipline he possessed to keep from rushing to the prince's side.

Narsus spoke slowly, with an appeasing tone. "If we have trespassed here, you have our apologies. But our charge has fallen gravely ill and in need of care."

The stranger at least seemed to consider those words, his jaw working as he thought them over. But Arslan's distress only grew louder, and did nothing to ease the tense air that had settled over the clearing.

Elam rounded on the man with an unchecked anger. "Can you not hear that he needs help? Let us go to him!"

The stranger bristled, and there were bared teeth in his countenance, now. "If this is some trick - "

"No trick," Narsus reassured him, "If you'd only -"

"Then you will show him!"

Daryun swallowed hard. There was no other choice then. Though putting Arslan in any sort of direct danger was the very last thing he wished to do, the prince's health was waning and they were losing precious time. Still, Daryun hesitated before stepping aside. He looked to Narsus once more, hoping to see unshakable confidence in his old friend's eyes.

Narsus outwardly looked every inch the calm and assured tactician, but his eyes were narrowed and there was tension in the set of his mouth. To Daryun, who knew him as well as the many years of their friendship had allowed, these small signs of uncertainty meant this was the rare, Narsus-devised plan with a fair chance of not working out in their favor. Even so, there were few people Daryun trusted with his or the prince's life; Narsus was one of them, in any circumstance.

Steeling his nerve, Daryun revealed Arslan to the stranger.

The man slowly stepped closer and spared a quick glance down at Arslan, but his face gave no hint of recognition. His stance remained unchanged, his arrow still held at the ready.

As he watched and waited, the dead quiet of the forest seemed to transform into a dull roar in Daryun's ears. He felt sweat slide down the side of his face. Daryun wondered of the man: did he or did he not realize the heir to the throne of Pars lay helpless before him?

Then without warning, the man suddenly moved his arrow tip away from Daryun's chest and took aim at the prone form of the prince.

In the space of an instant, Arslan's companions moved swiftly: stepping forward to shield Arslan with his own body, Daryun's sword flashed with reflected light from the campfire as he drew it forth. Narsus and Gieve took up their short swords also, and Elam crouched, prepared to spring forward and attack. In what seemed to be one fluid movement, Farangis had her bow in hand and an arrow notched and ready to fly.

"Well now," Gieve told the man easily, with a grin. "I'm sorry to say you've threatened the one person you really shouldn't have."

As living testament to Gieve's words, Daryun stood resolute before the prince. With his expression fierce and amber eyes seeming to burn as brightly as fire, he looked the very image of formidable.

"Harm him," Daryun said darkly, "And the Gods themselves couldn't save you from my sword!"

The seven of them remained locked in their tableau for several moments more. The silence stretched thin and taut, near the breaking point - but still the unknown archer did not release his arrow.

When the man spoke at last, it seemed almost as if to himself. "Willing to die for this noble boy of yours, without a second thought..." He finally lowered his arrowpoint to the ground, letting the rigid line of his shoulders ease somewhat.

"It appears I have come upon the last of the honest men of Pars," he finished. With a nod to Farangis, he amended, "And lady, as it seems." Though his scowl only softened slightly, his voice held a tone of begruding respect. He took his arrow from the bowstring and lifted it into the air as a clear sign of his surrender.

Arslan's companions slowly lowered their weapons, then returned them to their places.

"Honest?" Gieve chuckled. "Stranger things have been said of me, I suppose."

Daryun was the last to put his sword back at his side, only doing so once the stranger replaced the arrow back to its quiver. Trusting Gieve and Farangis to mind the stranger, he hurried along with Narsus and Elam to the prince's side.

Arslan fared badly; he gasped as he tossed and turned restlessly, hands clutching tightly at his makeshift cover. Not easy to miss was the wetness gathered at his lashes.

Narsus quickly slipped a hand beneath the hair that had fallen across Arslan's forehead, and couldn't hide his reaction as he found the heated skin there almost unbearable to touch. He coaxed Arslan's hand out of its grip on Daryun's cloak and felt for a pulse at the wrist, then at a spot beneath Arslan's jaw.

"Our efforts were in vain," he said grimly, shaking his head. "The fever has only increased in strength. If it continues like this..." He trailed off and looked hard at Daryun.

Daryun felt a coldness seep instantly through him, and he could only think, No. This cannot be.

Elam looked up at the stranger, his previous anger forgotten in the face of the prince's urgent need. "Have you any knowledge of medicine? Or heard of a healer around these parts?"

The man's eyes narrowed, and the look of his face became guarded. "How long since the boy took ill?" he wanted to know.

Daryun realized the man was asking not out of concern, but to determine if Arslan was beyond help. If he decided the latter, he would most likely turn them away.

"Two days," Narsus answered.

The man closed his eyes and turned his head aside. "I am sorry," he said gruffly.

Narsus, who had been watching the man closely, said, "Ah, but you do know of someone."

The stranger's eyes widened slightly, and for just an instant he looked exposed instead of angry, but that was enough for Daryun. Almost without thinking, Daryun stepped forth and locked eyes with the man. "We haven't much gold, but it's yours if you can help him." On an impulse, he put a fist over his heart, hoping it would convey the depth of his plea. "I beg of you."

The stranger raised his chin, affronted - whether at the direct eye contact or the offer of money, Daryun wasn't sure. But eventually the man relented. "Very well," he said. He raised a hand, pointing in the direction from which he had first confronted them. "My horse is nearby, and my home not much farther. You will follow."

It was quick work to gather up their belongings. Elam doused the fire, and Daryun carried the prince as they led the horses deeper into the forest where the man's own horse waited, tethered to a tree. They mounted and made their way after him.

"He said he can help," Elam said to his Master as quietly as he could. "But we know nothing about him. He could turn on us."

Narsus kept wary eyes upon the stranger up ahead as he replied. "We outnumber him, if it came to that. But for now the benefit is larger than the risk."

There was nothing Daryun agreed with more at the moment. Removing the saddle had allowed the prince to sit before him on Shabrang's wide back, and so close, Daryun felt every tremble. When Arslan seemed to grow weaker and frighteningly limp in his arms, Daryun tried to tamp down his worry and focus instead on navigating the unfamiliar terrain.

Their guide and his horse were swift and sure-footed, effortlessly following an easy course, for which Daryun and the others were grateful. In no time at all they came upon a modest home nestled amongst the trees.

In all, it was quite similar in style to the residence Narsus shared with Elam back in the woods outside Ekubatana, though slightly smaller and here the walls were made of tanned stone instead of gray. There were two structures on either side of the main living area; one they could see was a stable, which was well put to use with all seven horses secured inside of it.

Daryun and the others followed the man into the home, where it was quiet and dark. The booted footsteps of the men were loud on the old wood floor. After taking up a small oil lamp, the man led them before a room and held the light aloft in the doorway, gesturing toward the inside. "Here."

Whatever Daryun expected from a room in a humble dwelling out in the middle of the woods, what met his eyes was certainly not it.

A low cot of average size and a carved chair were set against the wall near a window, but this was where the simple furnishing ended. There were colorful tapestries on the walls, and a short table beneath the window was thick with potted plants. The floor was laid with layered rugs. Most striking of all was the large, metal panel set with a stylized sun, which hung directly above the bed. It looked to be made from bronze, hammered with facets so that when any light shone upon it, each ray gleamed as though it were hewn from sunlight itself.

In just the faint glow of the oil lamp, the room was beautiful; in the brightness of day it was sure to be quite remarkable.

The man left them momentarily, and Daryun and the others went about settling Arslan into the bed.

The prince looked no better than he had before, though he had quieted somewhat. Shivers racked his body, and his breathing was heavy and strained. His eyes were held tightly shut.

Now that he was well-protected indoors from the elements, his clothes were removed down to his plain under-tunic and trousers to better allow his comfort. Knowing that the fever chilled him even as it burned through his body, they made sure to cover Arslan with the blanket - which was nearly as sumptuous as anything a queen would have in her bedchamber.

The man returned just as they finished, carrying a tray laden with bowls and bottles. The hood of his cloak had been removed to reveal a topknot of dark hair. His features still looked a bit hard and mean, leading Daryun to think perhaps there was no other natural expression on him.

Surprisingly, the stranger was not alone. "My wife's mother," the man explained. "She knows more in these matters than I."

The small woman at his side was well into her elder years, with a kind yet careworn face, and graying hair tied into a thin braid. So heavy and lined was the skin near her eyes that she appeared to be squinting. Holding a robe closed around her nightclothes, she looked as though she had been roused from her sleep, though she nodded and smiled courteously at them. To Daryun's great relief, she went to Arslan straightaway.

She laid her hands at the same points Narsus had, to measure the quality of his heartbeat, and tutted at what she found. From one of the bowls she took a soaked cloth; the liquid was clear with a sour tang - vinegar, Daryun realized. She placed it on Arslan's forehead in the same way Gieve had done earlier. The boy stirred and made a noise of protest, but was too weak to struggle any further.

Another bowl held what looked like a salve that smelled of mint. With the unabashed tenderness of a caretaker, the woman rubbed this substance onto Arslan's temples, his neck, his chest. Filled with so many mingling scents, the room began to smell like an apothecary before long.

Finally she took up a bottle and poured its contents into a small drinking cup, putting it to the prince's lips. He swallowed the tonic easily, and Daryun helped her settle Arslan back upon the pillow.

Some of Arslan's silver-white hair had fallen across his face; the old woman smoothed the wayward strands and laid a hand at his hot cheek. "The poor child," she said. "Not one for many illnesses, I think."

At her touch, Arslan suddenly frowned and groaned softly in his sleep, lashes fluttering, and for the first time since the early evening, opened his eyes.

"Nanny...?" he murmured, so quietly only Daryun and the woman could hear. Though Arslan's gaze was unfocused and weary, he searched for the source of the gentle contact. The effort proved to be too much, and his eyes slid closed again in moments. But now his breath seemed to come easier, his face no longer pinched with discomfort.

The woman straightened to her full, diminutive height. "Another drink of that when he wakes, and plenty of water," she told Daryun. She reached out and took up one of his hands in her own, and gave it a comforting pat. "He will recover well. You will not worry."

Daryun was surprised a moment at the gesture, but recovered quickly and bowed his head to the woman. "We are grateful for your efforts."

"You are very skilled," said Farangis. "Were you trained as a healer?"

"No," the woman answered. Though her smile was kind, there was something resigned in her voice. "Just a mother, once."

Before any of them could produce a polite response, the man laid a hand gently on the old woman's shoulder, and she politely nodded at them and left the room.

"You are welcome to find sleep where you are able," said the man, his demeanor suddenly abrupt. "So long as you leave tomorrow." He made for the doorway.

"Wait," called Daryun.

"You will keep your gold," the stranger said, continuing past them. "I've no need for it."

But Daryun pressed on. "Then I would at least have your name. You've shown us a great kindness."

The man finally stopped. "I am Vanghav," he said over his shoulder.

Daryun closed his eyes and bowed with his head and chest. "You have our deepest thanks, Vanghav."

With a clipped nod, the other man took his leave.

"Do you think he suspsects?" Elam asked, once he judged the man in question had indeed left them alone.

"He's likely dismissed the thought by now," said Narsus. "But still doesn't completely trust us."

"Just as well," Daryun said. He sat down on the chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Attacked and then aided by him, within just an hour's time. Now the prince sleeps under his roof, and we still know nothing of him but his name."

"I sense he bears us no true malice," said Farangis. "But for what reason, one must wonder, have they chosen to make their living in such a remote place?"

Gieve reached up and clasped his hands together behind his head. "Ah!" he lamented. "To live so secluded, away from all life's pleasures...no wonder his face can produce nothing but a scowl."

"He has a wife, you know," Elam admonished.

Daryun looked to where Narsus stood with his eyes closed and arms folded. "What are your thoughts?" he asked the strategist.

Narsus was quiet a moment, then opened his eyes. "He is a hunter, and his accent and manner of speaking give away his foreign origins. Turanian, if I'm not mistaken. And his wife is dead."

The rest looked quite shocked to have their unspoken questions answered so concisely. Gieve gave a low whistle, impressed.

Narsus went on to explain his observations. "His arm is strong and steady upon the bow, and the addition to the house is likely where he would preserve the meat and hides, and render the fat for oil or candles. I imagine he sells his wares at the market at Kashan or even as far off as the capital.

"As I said, there is his speech, and to some extent his attire. But most telling of all..." Here Narsus gestured to the large work of bronze upon the wall. "The sun icon. The people of Turan worship Dayan, the God of the Sun."

Farangis closed her eyes, a small smile upon her lips. "Were you to learn to hear the whispers of the Djinn, Lord Narsus, I fear there is nothing that would escape your intellect."

Narsus smiled at the gracious praise, but it was soon replaced by a more solemn expression. "As for his wife...the grief in the old woman's voice nearly gives it away. But there is also this room. It's quite lovely, but unused, even though the plants are well-tended - out of respect for her memory, I'd presume. This was most likely her deathbed."

As one, they all looked to the bed and the young prince lying there, seeming newly vulnerable in light of this revelation. They lapsed into a silence.

Elam was staring at the floor, lost in thought. "If she was ill and unable to leave this room," he said pensively, "He must have filled it with such beauty for her sake."

Gieve shrugged. "Whether he is a sentimental old boor or an ordinary one, it's no matter to me," he said. "But I've had enough sleep this night, and can take the first watch."

"We'd best not let down our guard," Narsus agreed. "Now, I would prefer not to relive our cramped quarters back at Kashan, so I suggest we make camp outside and leave the prince to his recovery."

Gieve turned to Farangis, no doubt ready to say he did not mind such close and beautiful company, but the priestess merely slid her hair over her shoulder with a generous flicking motion - so generous that he ended up with a face-full of her hair, instead. Without even a glance behind, Farangis left the room.

With a nod to Daryun, Elam also made his way out, Gieve not far behind.

Not one of them waited for Daryun to follow, for there was no question where (or more specifically, at whose side) he would spend the rest of the night. There was no one the prince would be safer with, as they knew the warrior could no more let harm come to Arslan then he could force his own heart to stop beating.

Narsus was the last to leave. "You know," he began, "In all the tales I've heard of the legendary Black Knight of Pars, not one of them mentions his ability to subsist on a single hour of sleep."

Daryun favored him with a grin. "I'm fine, Narsus. I have endured much worse." His expression sobered as his gaze turned, as always, to the prince. "I will stay with him."

"I know," said Narsus, and now it was his turn to smile at the other, in a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

The two of them were quiet a moment as they regarded Arslan, until Narsus spoke. "Whether it is the result of his upbringing under that beastly Andragoras, or the fault of some other unkindness, His Highness thinks very little of himself."

"I know," said Daryun, in an echo of his friend. He closed his eyes, recalling Arslan's earlier words and the feelings of inadequacy revealed in the prince's delirium.

"He's not completely lacking in confidence," Narsus continued, "But without support, he is quick to doubt his ability. He also fails to see his own value. I worry these qualities may prove a hindrance, in the many trials ahead."

"His Highness only needs guidance," said Daryun. "Even then, he is brave and fair-minded, having the kindest, most honest heart of anyone I've ever known -"

Narsus laughed. "You don't need to convince me, Daryun. I did choose to follow him, after all. But I do hope you mention those things, when you approach the subject with him."

Daryun's eyes widened in surprise. "'When I approach - Narsus, surely yourself or one of the others would be better suited -"

Daryun was interrupted by Arslan, who suddenly gave a great sigh and turned over on his side in his sleep. An almost contented smile graced his features as he nestled further into his pillow. If not for the shadows beneath his eyes and the wan cast of his skin, he could almost appear to be sleeping peacefully in his rooms back at the palace.

Narsus went to Arslan and felt his brow, and this time he looked pleased. "I think he is well out of danger, now. As the old woman said, he will be all right." He turned and clapped a sympathetic hand upon Daryun's shoulder. "We'll speak more on the matter tomorrow. Try to get some rest." With that, he left to join the others outside.

The room fell quiet, and Daryun sighed.

He knew, as most others at court did, that the king and queen were oddly distant with Arslan. Many times over he had seen Andragoras dismiss the boy with a harsh word, or Tahamine respond to him with indifference, and Daryun now knew the reason for it. But to see Arslan receive a kind touch and be reminded of his nursemaid instead of his own mother - to hear him sincerely declare that his parents thought him useless - Daryun couldn't help but think the Lusitanian invasion wasn't the only injustice the prince had suffered.

Daryun also knew Arslan to be uncommonly kind, just as he had been as a small child when Daryun first met him years ago. The prince was never one to lord his status over another; in fact, he was known to treat the servants and slaves with the same respect he would afford to any noble. He was gracious to friend and foe alike, and so gentle-hearted that the pain of others - no matter who they might be - affected him deeply. Selfless to a fault, perhaps, but always willing to better himself for the good of his people, always determined to make things right. Daryun thought Arslan beyond worthy, in any sense of the word.

What Daryun didn't know was how to make the boy recognize these qualities in himself.

Laid atop this worry was the matter of Vanghav. Although he wasn't particularly welcoming, the hunter seemed to be no friend of the Lusitanians, and Daryun didn't dare think what may have befallen the prince without his help.

Still, Daryun remained wary. It wouldn't be the first time they had been treated respectably, only to later be betrayed.

Glancing out the window, Daryun guessed by the color of the sky that a handful of hours remained until sunrise. He resolved to put his heavy thoughts aside for the moment and attempt some rest.

It was only by listening to Arslan's steady, even breath that the tension left Daryun's body, and he finally slept.


End file.
